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[Copypasta]My son can be homer sexual
twitchquotes:My son π¦π» can be homer sexual π³οΈβπ My daughter π§π» can be lebanese π But I will NEVER βΌοΈ Raise a child πΆπ» who likes Jake and Logan Paul π π»β
My son π¦π» can be homer sexual π³οΈβπ My daughter π§π» can be lebanese π But I will NEVER βΌοΈ Raise a child πΆπ» who likes Jake and Logan Paul π π»β
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15 camels
twitchquotes:Hey Forsen, this Ali Muhammed from ISIS camp in Syria. Because you played that Skrillex song defiling our god we will now bomb your home unless you pay us 15 camels.
Hey Forsen, this Ali Muhammed from ISIS camp in Syria. Because you played that Skrillex song defiling our god we will now bomb your home unless you pay us 15 camels.
Art of Conquest is such an amazing FREE game!
twitchquotes:Art of Conquest is such an amazing FREE game! (Thanks for joining our Conquest Loyalty Rewards Program! Your selected channel is: nl_kripp. The more you post this message in his chat, the bigger your rewards! 1 Post = 10k Gold/Mana/Wood. 5 Posts = 50k Basic Resources + 3x 8 Hour Rush. 40 Posts = 750k Basic Resources + 20k Rare Resources + 21x 8 Hour Rush. Please remove this part before posting or your program will be terminated!)
Art of Conquest is such an amazing FREE game! (Thanks for joining our Conquest Loyalty Rewards Program! Your selected channel is: nl_kripp. The more you post this message in his chat, the bigger your rewards! 1 Post = 10k Gold/Mana/Wood. 5 Posts = 50k Basic Resources + 3x 8 Hour Rush. 40 Posts = 750k Basic Resources + 20k Rare Resources + 21x 8 Hour Rush. Please remove this part before posting or your program will be terminated!)
It's not gay with socks on
When I was 13 years old a buddy of mine tried to convince me to fool around. I wasn't into it, and he told me it's not gay if you're wearing socks. I didn't believe him, went home, and asked my dad.
That's 'gentleman's gay', hardly gay at all. Don't see it much these days.
The 50s were a different time. What were we to do? We were typical boarding school boys, rich with vigor, skin slick with drying sweat and gritty earth from a game of pigskin.
At night our young, virile bodies filled the dorm with sweet-musky vapors, like game-meat stewed with apple and peppercorn. You'd awake in darkness to the hushed, melodic rhythm of two pairs of white tube socks, barely visible in moonlight, bouncing on the hardwood floor.
The deep bond of male friendship played like a thousand different human instruments. The wet claps of skin on skin, the gentle thud of heads on backboards, frenzied cries in the throes of climax. Wilbur, so fat and soft like tapioca pudding. His breasts were so like the real thing, what we fantasized of our future wives. Unwilling, defenseless Wilbur, so slow and uncoordinated in the dark. 10 of us would glaze his bare, pink flesh like a giant raspberry danish. He once had the audacity to tell Headmaster Redford. But Redford was a Deerfield boy once, he understood. So he joined us on our midnight hog hunts.
Through college and years after we'd find time here and there, away from the wives at a family lake house. But it's been decades now - the times have certainly changed. If you wanted to do something private with another man, in your socks, it wasnβt βgayβ. It was just two men, celebrating each other's strength.
When I was 13 years old a buddy of mine tried to convince me to fool around. I wasn't into it, and he told me it's not gay if you're wearing socks. I didn't believe him, went home, and asked my dad.
That's 'gentleman's gay', hardly gay at all. Don't see it much these days.
The 50s were a different time. What were we to do? We were typical boarding school boys, rich with vigor, skin slick with drying sweat and gritty earth from a game of pigskin.
At night our young, virile bodies filled the dorm with sweet-musky vapors, like game-meat stewed with apple and peppercorn. You'd awake in darkness to the hushed, melodic rhythm of two pairs of white tube socks, barely visible in moonlight, bouncing on the hardwood floor.
The deep bond of male friendship played like a thousand different human instruments. The wet claps of skin on skin, the gentle thud of heads on backboards, frenzied cries in the throes of climax. Wilbur, so fat and soft like tapioca pudding. His breasts were so like the real thing, what we fantasized of our future wives. Unwilling, defenseless Wilbur, so slow and uncoordinated in the dark. 10 of us would glaze his bare, pink flesh like a giant raspberry danish. He once had the audacity to tell Headmaster Redford. But Redford was a Deerfield boy once, he understood. So he joined us on our midnight hog hunts.
Through college and years after we'd find time here and there, away from the wives at a family lake house. But it's been decades now - the times have certainly changed. If you wanted to do something private with another man, in your socks, it wasnβt βgayβ. It was just two men, celebrating each other's strength.